


The Difference Between Hearing and Listening

by justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops



Series: ma, pa, their babies and an uncle [2]
Category: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain, Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, and huck being the sweet uncle who the children act perfectly polite around, but wow they can be brats behind closed doors, it gets more somber then but the rest of the fic? comedy and fluff, more future au with tom and becky settled down with children, there's a small glimpse at some period-typical racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 12:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops/pseuds/justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops
Summary: “It’s all very well learning the words and how I’d teach the words to her. It’s a whole other thing, actually teaching her.”“Well, that’s her teacher's job anyhow, ain’t it? Was it real bothersome?”“The little devil knocked my damn tooth out.”“She didn’t!” Huck’s mouth twists into an incredulous, teeth-baring grin. There is an unmistakable hint of irony in his voice as he squawks, as if correcting Tom, “Your little angelfish!”---Or, Tom and Becky really have their work cut out for them and Uncle Huck is blissfully unaware.





	The Difference Between Hearing and Listening

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you've seen The Miracle Worker with Anne Bancroft and Patty Duke, you'll know which scene inspired the ugly tantrum in this fic lmao.
> 
> A bit of backstory if the premise is confusing: Tom and Becky have always been a little clueless as to exactly how they should deal with their child having a disability, so a certain someone has been ridiculously spoiled up until this point, and isn't very happy when her parents try to break the ice into actually exercising discipline!
> 
> Basically, parenting is hard.

_D-O-L-L._ _Doll._

Jean doesn’t watch Tom mouth the word, letter by letter, or pay any mind to his hands slowly twisting her own to mimic the signs he makes. Her eyes stay glued to the _actual_ doll pressed flush against Becky’s chest, the only kind she’s really interested in. Becky raises it emphatically when Tom spells out the word in her hand again, but in nothing more than a fruitless attempt.

The girl has had quite a tiring day already, and it is barely past noon. A small argument with her sister had broken out over breakfast; something about Carrie having stolen food from Jean’s plate when she wasn’t looking and denying any of the accusations laid at her feet. Tom wouldn’t have expected the small quarrel to do any less than sufficiently sour her mood. She is an ill-tempered, self-willed child, just as he had been, so he is not surprised in the very least when she deliberately shifts her gaze away from her father and mother alike, instead feigning interest in the trees swaying gently in the breeze outside the window. Except, Tom will not allow their endeavors to be spurned so easily.

“Over here, you,” he says, and with a fragile sternness, tucks a finger beneath her chin and gently cants her head in his direction. When their eyes meet, he nods down towards their clasped hands and spells out the word yet again, slower this time as she watches carefully. _D-O-L-L._ He flashes a small, encouraging smile and raises a brow, hoping he can persuade her still. “You can have it back when you spell it out, I swear it. Think it over, hm?”

It is clear that they both understand the other’s intentions all too well. When she shakes her head furiously after a moment of silent contemplation, scowling and wrenching her hands free from her father’s grasp, Tom’s tired gaze drifts towards Becky. It is impossible to miss the selfsame frowns plastered on both of their faces, and for a moment, Becky almost catches herself smiling at the strangely endearing sight.

“She learns about five new words everyday with that old bat,” says Tom, smoothing down Jean’s hair and ignoring how quickly her little hand swats his away. “But she won’t learn a single one with us.”

“Don’t you talk ill of that sweet woman,” Becky warns, shoulders drooping as she lowers the porcelain doll to her lap. Mrs. Thompson, the governess they’d hired to teach Jean sign language, acts as nothing less than a savior to them, and she certainly doesn’t deserve to suffer at the brunt end of Tom’s thinning patience because Jean’s present behavior is less than cooperative.

Becky threads her slender fingers through the doll’s curls, looking over at Jean as if she wishes to do the same to her, but wisely decides against it. “She’s just in a grumpish mood right now. I reckon I should settle her in for a nap.”

“Her teacher didn’t teach us this stuff for nothing,” Tom insists, lips pursing. “She’s just so stubborn!”

“Couldn’t be any more stubborn than you were,” Becky parries.

“I know. That’s why I hate it so much.”

He gives Jean a small pleading look, and tries one last time to spell the word into her hands. After a few moments pass still without success and he is prepared to give in for the night, she wrings her hands together almost indecisively, tucks her knees beneath her chin, and slowly, painfully slowly,  spells the word on her own. The expression of pure jubilation springs onto his face, and Becky’s too, before she can finish signing the last _L_.

“Lord!” He nearly shouts in triumph, pride flickering in bursts behind his eyes. He eagerly hands the doll over to Jean, who receives it with open arms. “You knew how to spell it this whole time, I reckon,” he muses to himself quietly, faintly amused, and watches intently as she begins to brush the doll’s soft blond hair from its rosy-cheeked face.

“You're probably right,” Becky can’t help but agree.

Jean continues to pet the porcelain doll’s head of golden hair, seemingly content. Becky laughs quietly and brushes away the girl’s own strawberry blond ringlets of hair hanging in her face.

“You see, Becky? She’s a fast learner, when she wants to be.”

“Quiet, you arrogant thing,” Becky chides halfheartedly, a small smile still gracing her lips. “I suppose you weren’t entirely wrong now, were y—”

Their relief and joy does not last for long.

In the next second, Jean takes the doll and cracks it across her father’s face. Clipped, startled shouts issues from both parents’ mouths in the sudden tumult before she can scuttle to the far side of the room.

While Jean clutches the doll closer to her chest, Becky is hollering still, her speech punctuated by small, distraught whimpers. She simultaneously scolds Tom and asks if he is alright multiple times, who can manage no reply for the life of him. He can only shake his head in faint awe at the pain pulsating in waves through the left side of his face. Who had known his little girl could hit so hard!

“Oh, you little wretch,” he hisses miserably beneath his breath, cradling his injured cheek in his hand. A thin string of curses falls from his his mouth; such are times that he may be glad the child cannot hear him. He staggers over to the mirror across the room, ignoring Becky worrying over him in a faint, tremulous voice.

“Hain’t we taught you _any_ manners?” he bemoans to no one in particular, perhaps more to himself than anyone else. As he meets eyes with his disgruntled reflection in the mirror, the angry red that’s already begun to color his cheek glares back. “Sakes alive,” he breathes in disbelief, and sounds as though he is speaking through a mouthful of marbles. He’s almost certain she has knocked a tooth loose. He’s never going to hear the end of this from Huck.

And then Jean is scampering out the door in a flurry of skirts before either can catch her, and slamming the door shut behind her.

“ _Jean!_ Jean, you get back h—”

Becky falls silent and remembers, as she must every now and then, that she is shouting after a little girl who cannot hear. For _some_ reason, she doubts Jean would obey even if she could; the evidence of her behavior paints a bright mark upon her father’s cheek, and it doesn’t look like it will begin to fade anytime soon. Becky whirls around and takes Tom’s face in her hands, prying his own hand free and carefully examining the patch of red that blooms steadily upon his cheek. “Oh, Tom! Your poor face!”

“She meant to hit you,” grumbles Tom, wincing. “Did you see that? You went and touched her and then she whaled on me.”

“How could I _not_ see it, Tom? Just hush now,” she nearly begs, her touch contrasting starkly against her tone as she gently cants his chin up to get a better look at the injury. She lets out another small sound of distress, lithe fingers splayed featherlight against his cheek. “Oh. Oh, the trouble that child gets herself into! I’ll take that doll away and…Do you reckon you’ll bruise?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Tom answers shortly through a tight-lipped frown. He moans weakly, and Becky can see his tongue probing the offending area behind his jaw. His eyes flutter and his mouth gathers sideways curiously. Brows creasing in both wonder and dread, he slowly raises a hand to his mouth and spits out a single tooth, tinged with red. Becky simply gapes in horror at the sight. Tom shakes his head, crumpling in defeat once he fully realizes Jean has barreled out of the room and is thus unable to witness him wave his imaginary white flag in the air. He surrenders on a battlefield already fled by the—well, by his 7-year-old daughter.

“Rag dolls from now on. Toy, my _foot;_ that blamed thing would make a fine weapon!”

Later that night, after giving the girls their goodnight kisses and retiring to his study, he fishes the tooth from his pocket and stows it away in a small compartment in his desk. No matter if it serves as a memento for an incident that had been less than pleasant to experience. Despite Jean’s awful behavior, Tom could not say he wasn’t impressed with her swing.

* * *

“It’s all very well learning the words and _how_ I’d teach them to her. It’s a whole other thing, actually teaching her.”

“Well, that’s her teacher’s job anyhow, ain’t it? Was it real bothersome?”

“The little devil knocked my damn tooth out."

“She didn’t!” Huck’s mouth twists into an incredulous, teeth-baring grin. There is an unmistakable hint of irony in his voice as he squawks, as if correcting Tom, “Your little _angelfish!_ ”

“Shut up.” Tom hastily retrieves the tooth from his pocket and places it down on the table with a soft _click._ He folds his arms across his chest in a short huff as Huck stares, gobsmacked, at the tiny object that suddenly occupies the tabletop. “Why would I tell you I got walloped by my own child if it weren’t true? It ain’t exactly something to be proud of.”

“Oh. Oh, Tom.” Huck raises a hand and brushes it faintly across his lips. He grimaces as though in pain, as though he imagines the tooth in front of him having been knocked clean from his own mouth, and casts an apologetic look to Tom from across the table. “You wasn’t fooling, then.”

“No,” Tom sniffs, “I wasn’t.”

It does not take very long for the slight sneer of disgust on Huck’s face to be replaced with an expression of wide-eyed fascination. He plucks it up and holds it mere inches from his face, squinting thoughtfully as if it is some precious stone that he holds up in the sunlight’s gleam. Tom smothers down laughter watching. “There’s an awful lot of blood. She got a real good shot atcha, didn’t she.” He says it more as a statement than a question, still scrutinizing the thing between his thumb and forefinger endlessly.

“She _did!_ You should’ve…should’ve _seen_ how quick she ran out of that room!” Tom finds himself having trouble articulating the words through his laughter. Looking back on the memory now and picturing it vividly, he realizes just how ridiculous the whole ordeal had been, and how much more ridiculous it must have looked! To see a girl no taller than a sprout crack her father across the face and then flee the scene of the crime in haste.

Well. This is his life now.

“What’d the Missus do? Jean didn’t hit Becky, did she?” Huck winces, becoming visibly anxious just at the thought.

“Oh, no, she didn’t do anything but hit _me,_ that’s all,” Tom reassures dryly.

Just then, Becky sails into the kitchen. She takes the kettle of coffee from the stove with one hand and smooths down stray curls that have sprung loose from her tightly-bunched chignon with the other. Huck lowers the tooth and instead holds it in the palm of his hand, smiling graciously as she pours him another cup of coffee. He thanks her, and the pleasant heat of the steam rises and curls around his face as he draws a small sip from the mug.

As Becky skirts around the table to refill Tom’s cup, she hums softly in reply and offers up an amiable, gentle smile. Her eyes, as pale a blue as they may be, have never lacked warmth or affection when gazing evenly at Huck, and they do not now, either. “You know you’re always more than welcome to stay here whenever you like, Huckleberry. The children have missed you terribly!”

Huck nods, the corner of his lips tilting up into a somewhat bashful, lopsided grin. “I know. I’m awful grateful for it. I missed them, too.”

“You might not miss them so terribly if they behaved towards you the way they do towards their poor mama and papa,” scoffs Tom from behind his mug. “The next time you see me, I reckon I’ll be toothless, and they’ll act as sweet as pie just in time for you to roll on by.”

“There’s no use complaining about it anymore, Tom,” Becky sighs, placing the kettle back on the stove and flattening a crease in the skirt of her dress. And when she sees a still very intrigued Huck rolling the tooth between his fingers, her lips pressed into a firm line: “You oughtn’t touch that, Huck. I can’t imagine where Tom’s kept it.”

“Only in my mouth, where I’d expect to,” Tom laughs, “and then in my desk. It ain’t hurting nobody.”

“Lord, the pair of you still act like boys sometimes when you’re together. It’s a considerable pleasant sight when you’re not rubbing your hands all over any tooth or bug or pebble on the ground that happens to catch your eye.”

The pair doesn’t bother to refute her, because they are aware she knows of their habits all too well after all this time.

After a short while, she leaves the kitchen again so they can talk amongst themselves quietly. One way or another, with the subject of children lingering not far behind them, they are brought back to their own childhoods, back to the same old St. Petersburg; Aunt Polly and Sid and Mary, Joe Harper and Ben Rogers and little Tommy Barnes—perhaps not so little anymore, wherever he may be. Muff Potter, too.

Jim. His wife and children.

The realization hits Tom like a brick, and he remembers then.

“What was…what was Jim’s little girl’s name? It’s been a long time.”

“Elizabeth,” Huck answers without hesitation, or even a passing glance at Tom. The fondness in the small smile on his lips is unmistakable. He continues to stare at the mug of coffee in his hands, as though submerged in a fog. “It’s Elizabeth.”

“She went deaf...didn't she?”

“She did.”

Tom nods after a moment’s silence. When he speaks again, his tone is somewhat rueful; his hands gesticulate briefly before falling limply into his lap, as if they know not what to make of themselves. His hands, knowing most of the time what to make of themselves, and Jean’s little hands, too. Pale. Not Elizabeth’s. “I wonder if she ever learned how…how to—”

“Tom,” Huck interrupts, and the quiet sadness in his eyes seems so much more piercing when Tom stares into them. “You know better’n to ask.” He shakes his head. “She never learned.”

Tom blinks and nods. It feels strange and cuts deep, being scolded by Huck of all people for ignorance, and yet Tom cannot find it in himself to raise any fuss.

“I’ll make sure we learn Jean well,” he adds, somewhat quietly.

“I always reckoned you would.” With another small, reassuring smile.

* * *

Just as Tom suspects, he cannot stay angry forever over a single missing tooth.

Later, after Huck had retreated to the spare room and Tom to his study again for a quick read, a timid Jean steps inside. He always leaves the door a crack open; it is not rare to hear quiet, squealing laughter and the soft patter of feet scampering up and down the halls during the night. It is even less rare that he will have to scoop them up and bring them back to their room, regardless of whether they make noise on their post-bedtime escapades.

She approaches him then, and he turns in his chair towards her.

Silently, she offers up her clenched hand. As she opens her fist, he sees the tooth inside.

He has to stifle a grimace as he realizes he’d left it on the table (just as he’d promised he wouldn’t), and that Becky had probably sent Jean, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, to return the slightly questionable keepsake.

He laughs quietly and takes it gently from her, storing it back inside a drawer. When he spins around again, she looks as ashamed as a criminal sentenced to the gallows. She taps her lip and gives him a pressing, urgent look. Knowing already what she is silently demanding, he pulls his lip back with a finger so that she can peer inside, where there the tooth had once been not a few days prior.

It doesn’t take long before her eyes are welling up with unshed tears at the troubling sight.

Tom takes her into his arms before she can leap into them. She cries a bit, and he holds her in his lap, close against his chest for as long as she needs, until she decides she has made her apology clear enough, and hops down. She hastily wipes away her tears—she makes sure to beat him to it this time—and he sends her to bed afterwards with a kiss to the head.

That night, he practices all the words he’d been taught, hands moving in the quiet darkness, until he falls to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo about Jean being deaf: I was thinking she lost her hearing after going through a nasty bout of scarlet fever as a toddler, which wasn't an uncommon thing that happened Back in the Day. But ANYWAYS
> 
> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed!!! You'd make my entire day if you felt like leaving a comment too, but hey it's up to you. Thanks for reading!
> 
> (also find me on tumblr @ romantic-outcast if you want to see me ramble about twain)


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